


Soft

by boomshine87



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 04:51:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16211780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boomshine87/pseuds/boomshine87
Summary: Being the duteous younger brother of Harald Finehair, Halfdan the Black marries an English woman for gold and alliance. By his own admittance Halfdan did not understand women, let alone an English born lady who had no idea of his culture, and he none of hers.Antonia was under no disillusion that she would never be able to choose the man she would marry, and had forgone any notions of romance when she was but a young girl. However, she never envisioned that the man her father would choose for her to marry would take her across the sea to a faraway land where she didn’t speak the language or know anything of their culture.





	1. Chapter One

Halfdan did not like being inside the English town’s Church. Made of stone with an obscenely high roof he found the notion of worshipping one God in one building almost comical. His fingers twitched restlessly on the small blade sheathed in his belt as he stood with Harald at the front of the Church. 

“Here comes your wife, brother,” Harald’s hand clapped on his younger brothers shoulder, bringing his attention to the double doors of the Church as they opened, revealing the Earl and his daughter, who was wearing so much lace and tulle she resembled a cloud.

As she walked down the aisle, Halfdan’s predatory glare didn’t leave her and his smirk masqued his anxiousness. Her veil was so thick he couldn’t see her face. What had Harald gotten him into?

At the altar the Earl stepped aside and she finally revealed her face.

Halfdan turned to his brother.

“She is one of the prettiest,” Harald offered sheepishly. 

“Then I do not want to see the ugly ones,” Halfdan retorted. His bride was very plain with no noticeable features that made her stand out. Brown hair had been pinned back and her eyes were blue. Her nose was straight, at least, her mouth painted a pink rose colour. She was looking down at the floor showing her eyelashes were long but very straight. 

The priest cleared his throat and she looked up to him. As Halfdan studied her face more he came to the conclusion that although her mouth was a pretty shape, the space between her nose and lips was too great. She was not repulsive but she did absolutely nothing to arouse him.

“Your woman does not like the sea.” Harald laughed, watching as Antonia sat on a small crate, knuckles turned white like her face as she gripped on for dear life. 

“She’s not my woman.” Halfdan looked to the horizon where Vestfold was finally coming into view. Halfdan loved his brother, but this shambolic marriage would take some time for him to get over and fully forgive Harald. 

“Of course she is. You are married.” Harald chuckled again as she refused the dried berries Harald held out to her. 

Halfdan glanced to his wife and turned away in annoyance, focussing on the horizon again. Harald has took it upon himself to marry off his younger brother to this Christian woman while he’d been checking rabbit traps. In return, they had received a lump sum of gold with more gold and jewels promised to them when they would return to England some months later. It was all well and good that they would receive treasures that would help them build their own army, as well as strengthen their alliance with Ivar the Boneless, but Halfdan was the one who was stuck with this Christian for the best part of a year. He would have to have her in his home and give her money for food and clothes. 

Antonia stood by the boat on the docks as people bustled around her shouting orders in a language she didn’t understand. The town smelt like fish. Her husband walked past her with his brother, no acknowledgement of her existence from either of them. She stood where she was, beside her small travelling trunk chest with her belongings, awaiting instruction. Halfdan reached the end of the dock before realising she wasn’t here. He turned and impatiently motioned her forward with his hand. Quickly realising she was by herself, she began dragging her trunk behind her, following a long way behind him to a small house.

She stood near the front door, red faced and sweating from exhaustion. They stared at each other for a few seconds before Halfdan’s head motioned to a wooden door. Antonia huffed as she leant down, this time pushing her trunk along the wooden floor into a room just large enough to house a bed covered in animal furs and a large chest in one corner with Halfdan’s belongings - tunics, tools, bottles of oils and weapons - overspilling onto the floor. Antonia decided to leave her chest there for now and headed back into the other room to try and better acquaint herself with her new husband. He spoke a little bit of her language which although difficult, did not mean it was impossible to communicate.

Stepping into the other room she caught a flash of Halfdan’s profile as the front door slammed behind him, and he was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Halfdan had moved Antonia out of his room and into a smaller bedroom, separated from the main house by a thick curtain. Most nights he didn’t return home at all - where he went she didn’t know for sure, but could only suspect into another woman’s bed. At first she was glad that he didn’t spend much time with her, as it meant that she didn’t have to lay with him. Soon though, she found herself lonely and bored. 

She knew nothing of their culture and nobody talked to her. At first when she ventured out to the market to buy needle, thread and fabric she was ignored by everybody. A quick glance at her and a hushed whisper to their companions about the ‘dirty Christian woman’, and people turned their bodies away from her. She was excluded on many levels. A few times recently when she stepped outside the house women had started spitting on her feet or dress, words spoken in disgust and anger hurtled towards her. When one woman spat at her it hit Antonia on the cheek and she was laughed at so much so that she fled back home with red cheeks and tears in her eyes.

When Halfdan did sleep the night in the house, Antonia quickly learnt to get up when she heard him move in the mornings. The two household slaves didn’t pay her any attention - perhaps a good thing - but that meant she had to wash, make and mend her own clothes which proved immensely difficult as she was never taught these things. It was very much a trial and error process.

When she got up the same time as her husband she found him at the small table shovelling either porridge or bread and cheese down his throat like he hadn’t eaten in months. She did the same - eating whatever he did. He would stand abruptly from the table and bark orders at the slaves - perhaps at her too but she didn’t think so - and she would quickly grab some leftovers from the morning meal and wrap them in a Muslin cloth for her lunch. The slaves did not prepare anything for her, only the evening meal. And that was only if Halfdan chose to return.

Antonia tried to help with the house chores - salting fish, making butter, cleaning - but the slaves waved her away with contempt at her inability to actually do any of those tasks. They often stood and looked at her, talking in hushed voices like they were conspiring something before cackling like witches. 

A few times Halfdan had taken her to the Great Hall for supper. She didn’t care much for it - the Vikings ate greedily and sloppily. Chicken bones were thrown on the floor, more ale spilled down their tunics than they swallowed. The Hall was always so loud and rambunctious. And there was always a fight that broke out. Her only reprieve was the music that was played.

It was always lively but somewhat sensual at the same time. Her hands often rested in her lap as she tapped her fingers on her thigh to the beat of the drum being played, gaze going to the fast moving fingers of the man playing the lute. 

One night, as they feasted in the Great Hall, Antonia felt more isolated than ever before. Halfdan was sitting on her left and a woman on her right whose only interaction with her was to request the pitcher of ale. The woman got drunk quickly and even though she wanted to Antonia couldn’t strike a conversation with her. Halfdan didn’t acknowledge her all night. He kept his head and body turned away from her as he laughed and talked with his brother and another man. At one point during the evening, he and the woman sitting to her right struck up a conversation and talked for a few minutes as if Antonia wasn’t even sitting in between them.

She sighed heavily looking down at the new dress she made. Thread was coming loose already and the red buttons didn’t match the green fabric at all, but she had made it with her bare hands and it fit well. 

“Halfdan?” She asked not wanting to touch his arm. On the three occasions she had touched his arm or shoulder to gain his attention his reaction had been to pull away and his eyes stared into hers with hostility.

“Halfdan, home?” She asked, at the same time that Harald burst out laughing. Her voice was no match for his booming laughter so she simply stood and made her leave. As she suspected, nobody noticed. 

Once home, she picked up a small sharp kitchen knife and placed it under her pillow. Halfdan had not slept in the house for the past two full weeks. She had begun to feel unsafe and the knife made her feel better. 

 

Antonia knew it was a bad idea to follow the women this deep into the forest. They had smiles on their faces but their tone of voice was not pleasant and the few words she picked up were not pleasant either. But the prospect of potential friendship, or at least civility, had blinded her into going with them with no resistance.

Gunnhild, a healer, found Antonia in the forest, naked from the waist up, her dress torn to shreds. Clumps of her hair had been hacked off and she had many scratches up her arms and chest. On her side were two parallel lines carved deep that would surely leave scars. 

“What is this?” Halfdan asked Gunnhild, finding the healer in his house. A shrug was his answer. He wasn’t pleased to be torn away from his feasting and drinking to be told his wife had been found in the forest. 

Gunnhild nodded to his bedroom. He entered and saw Antonia naked in a tub, knees to her chest and arms wrapped around herself. Her head was turned to the side away from him. He saw chunks of her hair missing as he approached her. 

When she looked up to him he saw her lip was split and saw tiny, but deep scratches all up her arms. 

“What happened?” He asked in annoyance. 

“In the forest.”

“A man?”

“No,” she shook her head, “Women.”

“Is she alright?” He asked Gunhild.

“She will live, nothing but scratches,” Gunhild commented.

“Then do not call me away from my leisure time again, unless she is dying or already dead.”

Halfdan left with a slam of the door and Gunhild looked down at the scared young woman in the bathtub before her. The healer sighed heavily, picking up her bottles of oils and ointments used to clean Antonia’s wounds. 

“You will survive, child. You will survive this.” The older lady offered a smile and pressed a very light kiss to Antonia’s forehead.


	3. Chapter 3

When Halfdan told Antonia they were going back to England, she beamed. Her face lit up - eyes and mouth wide with a smile - whereas it was usually pulled in a frown. Halfdan thought to himself that she was much prettier when she smiled. She still did not favour the sea and sat as she had on her journey to Vestfold - atop a crate the whole way there, and her knuckles white. At least her face now held some colour, perhaps mainly due to the fierce wind that grazed her cheeks.

Antonia had packed very lightly for the journey, forgoing her heavy trunk and opting instead for a bag that she made herself from off cuts of dress fabrics. The multi coloured one strap bag sat securely on her back - leaving her hands free. When she realised they were not using horses for travel, only to carry their provisions and weapons, Antonia was grateful of her decision.

When the sun ducked behind the horizon, the men erected tents and set up camp. She managed to find a bowl and helped herself to the unattended stew boiling in a large black pot. Whatever it was, it was delicious, both warming and filling her stomach as she sat alone on a large fallen log, back to the roaring fire as laughter echoed throughout the forest. Looking up at the twinkling stars she began to feel the days walk in her legs and exhaustion washed over her. She panicked for a few seconds as she realised that she didn’t know where Halfdan was or if he would even accept her to sleep in his tent. What if he wanted to take another woman? What if he wanted to take her?

Halfdan ate quickly and retreated to his tent to sharpen his weapons. Whenever he was away from home he made sure that his weapons were always clean and ready for use. Even if they were spending the night in a dense forest away from settlements (if Harald’s maps were correct) he would not chance having a dull blade if a surprise attack should befall them. His blades sharp, his thoughts turned to sleep. He debated a woman, but was starting to feel tired. It seems he was not as young as he once was - gone were the days when he could fight all day and fuck all night.

Stepping outside he glanced around the fires and groups of people not retired to their own tents yet. His eyes searched for the English woman with chocolate brown hair and cornflower blue eyes. He eventually saw her sitting away from the group on a log, staring dreamily up at the stars. He sighed and approached her to bring her back to the tent. He may not have wanted to lay with her but he also didn’t want any other man to have her. She turned to him, startled. She always either looked startled or confused. Antonia would narrow her eyes and watch his lips when he spoke the very few words he knew in her language to her. The only time she ever showed any other emotion was when the lute and drums were played at the Great Hall in the evenings - he noticed that she would often tap her foot or her head would nod slightly to the beat.

In the tent she stood on the spot, awaiting instruction from him. He stripped down to his tunic, bundled himself in the furs and let sleep consume him within minutes. Antonia, watching his chest rise and fall slowly, only made a move when she was sure he was asleep. She took off her leather shoes - but that was it, and slept in her dress. She laid on her back for ages, having only gained enough confidence to take back one of the furs Halfdan had covered himself with when she found herself physically shaking from the cold night’s air. Halfdan moved onto his back, still sleeping and she took the time to study his face. 

His eyes, when awake, were chestnut brown, but could easily turn black when he was angered. Perhaps that was why they called him Halfdan the Black? Most of his features were hard to make out with the blue markings he had decided to cover his face with. His beard was long and unkempt which she didn’t much care for, and his hair was just plain silly. Who shaved off that much from their head, only to have a long swathe of it covering their eyes? It was a ridiculous notion to her. 

They travelled for a further three days and soon Antonia recognised they were going back to her father’s estates. There suddenly became a thick smell of smoke and Antonia thought that perhaps another party had stayed in the forest and had not put out a campfire that had set fire to nearby trees.

A voice from far ahead called for them to stop - she walked amongst the people somewhere in the middle, with Halfdan up front with his brother. The sun was fairly high in the sky so she knew it was not time for them to make camp. The smoky smell had intensified and as people started to talk amongst themselves she ventured up the line and eventually reached the front. 

She wished she hadn’t.

The land in front of them, usually a plethora of vibrant greens and yellow from the flowers in the fields, was now instead littered with black piles of ash. The lands had been burnt, with small plumes of smoke still coming from within the town’s walls.

Antonia took off running across the charred lands, running past upturned carts, the horses that once pulled them dead on the ground, their flesh cut from their bones. Dead bodies littered the ground as she ran into the town’s stone walls that once offered safety for the people. The thick wooden doors were heavily splintered - they had been hacked at with axes. Into the courtyard she fled, legs jumping over rivers of blood and mutilated bodies.

Halfdan stepped to go after her, to stop her. Whoever who had attacked the town were definitely nearby. The smoke from inside and glowing ambers in the piles of burnt wheat were sure signs of that.

Harald’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. “What’re you doing?” He hissed. “Let her go.”

They watched her run and disappear through the broken doors. When they didn’t her screams or see any movement, they made their way with a small group of men towards the massacre.

Halfdan didn’t find her until later that afternoon, outside the walls. She’d been hiding from everybody in one of her sisters rooms. She had ran from room to room, each one of her three younger sisters - even the baby that couldn’t yet walk - had been killed and mutilated. Limbs, eyes and teeth missing from each of their small bodies. 

Antonia didn’t remember how she found the strength, but she had wrapped the bodies in cloth and carried them through the servants entrance to the rear of the wall. She wanted to bury them overlooking the fields that hadn’t been burnt.

Halfdan approached her. She glanced over her shoulder at him, but did not stopping her digging. 

“I have nothing to say to you.” Antonia remarked.

“I came to find you, I followed after you and that is all you have to say to me?”

“I did not ask you to follow me. Leave.”

“It is not safe here.”

She continued her work.

He snatched the shovel off her with ease. “Did you hear me?”

She looked at him with disgust then went to her knees, digging with her hands. 

“I will leave when I am done, and not before.” Her voice held determination. 

He threw the shovel to the ground.“You are an ungrateful, spoilt, naive woman with the temperament of a small child. I will gladly pay whatever levee your father wishes for a divorce.”

Antonia froze. She took off her wedding ring and threw it up at his chest before resuming her digging. “You are more than welcome to do so, if you can find him.” The body of her father had not been found - which gave her hope he had managed to flee the attack.

Antonia dug until darkness enveloped her and she couldn’t see what she was doing. Harald’s small army had taken camp inside the walls, burning all the bodies which not only alerted people nearby to their presence, but gave off an almighty stench in the process. Some men had found the wine and were drunkenly singing and dancing in the courtyard as Antonia made her way to bed.

The next morning, after a restless nights sleep despite her exhaustion, Antonia ate a quick breakfast for strength before returning to her sister’s graves. She stopped in her tracks at seeing two men, being overlooked by Halfdan, digging the earth. He turned to her but didn’t say anything. She went to stand beside him, watching the men dig faster than she ever could. They remained silent, only Halfdan giving occasional orders to the men, until such time as her sisters had been buried and covered with the earth. 

“Thank you.” Antonia said softly, so quietly that Halfdan wasn’t entirely sure she had spoke at all. He was about to say something when in his peripheral vision he saw something flying through the air. An arrow. He stepped back and pulled Antonia’s arm on instinct, the arrow making a whizzing noise as it flew through the air right past her ear. She screeched in fright. Halfdan drew his swords and landed a solid kick to the chest of the man that was running towards them. More men rushed him, and it was far too late that Halfdan realised he was vastly outnumbered.

There had to have been at least twelve men that came at them from nowhere, but that didn’t appear to bother Halfdan at all. Antonia watched him move quickly, blades moving so fast she could hear the steel cutting through the air. He easily took down three men and it gave her hope that maybe he could get them out of this alive. When two of the men flanked him, one managing to move behind him, her hope quickly turned to despair. She was grabbed from behind as well, as someone cracked a whip and the leather wrapped itself around Halfdan’s arm, poised in the air. He dropped his sword and was yanked forward onto one knee. 

The men stilled as one man in particular stood in front of Halfdan, a very small thin knifewith an ivory handle in his hand, glinting in the setting sun. The stranger smiled and it was so intimidating that Antonia was nearly sick. His teeth had been carved into points, sharp like the knife he held to Halfdan’s throat.

“I like the way you kneel before me,” the man spoke in a low tone, slow and deliberate. His eyes flicked to Antonia’s and she looked to the ground, away from his silver grey eyes that were almost wolf like. His blonde hair was matted into one thick long braid over his shoulder.

“You, girl, you will kneel as well.”

The man who had grabbed her kicked Antonia in the back of her leg forcing her to fall to the ground on her knees.

“Let her go.” Halfdan growled, straining against the whip that still held his arm. 

The man smiled again. “I think not.”


	4. Chapter 4

Soft - Chapter Four

Halfdan awoke to a throbbing headache and a cold stone floor beneath him. He’d not only been stripped of his weapons but also his leather armour and boots, leaving him in just linen trousers and tunic. He sat up and spat the blood that pooled in his mouth onto the floor. His eyes drifted to Antonia, a few feet away from him. They were in the same cell but separated by iron bars.

“You’re awake!” She spoke quietly but her voice was full of relief. 

“Are you hurt?” He asked.

“No,” she shook her head. “Who are they?” She asked, noticing they spoke the Norse language.

“Berserkers. They most likely attacked your family.”

“Berserkers?” She questioned.

Halfdan’s eyes flicked around the room to make sure they were alone and kept his voice low. “They drink poison so they build up immunity to it, they carve their teeth into points so they can rip the flesh off bodies without using a knife. Before battle, they ingest special mushrooms and herbs which make them crazy.” He explained. Antonia’s face grew white. And she only understood half of what he said.

“Will they kill us?”

“No.” He lied. 

The door to the room opened and three men entered, including the man with silver eyes and matted hair. He appeared to be their leader, and was the only one to speak.

“Your brother has been sent word of your whereabouts. Tomorrow he will bring gold. For your release.”

“And hers?” Halfdan asked.

The man sighed. “Yes. Her too. She’s odd isn’t she? I find all English women odd. Too clean. Too stiff.” He walked slowly to Antonia’s cell. She could make out a few words he was saying and found herself crawling backwards on the stone floor until her back hit the wall. “Maybe I need to loosen her up.” A key appeared in his hand and the metal squealed as the lock was turned and the iron bar door opened.

Halfdan heard Antonia gasp, she started murmuring in her language, words of either encouragement to herself or a plea to the man to leave her alone - her words were spoken too quickly and he couldn’t make them out. Her breath hitched in her throat as the man’s hands went to the laces that held up his trousers. Her hands bought out in front of her to try and warn the man away from her. 

“Leave her.” Halfdan found himself saying. The man’s head snapped to him. Halfdan stood and put his hands on the iron bars. “Leave her.” He snarled.

“Jealous?” The man slowly retreated from Antonia and relief washed over her as she watched the man leave her cell and lock the door. Fear rose up in her throat again as she watched him walk to Halfdan’s cell and open his door. 

“No!” Antonia tried to scream, but her voice caught in her throat.

Halfdan rushed the man and landed a solid punch to his jaw. The two men who had been standing by approached the cell and held Halfdan face down onto the floor. His legs thrashed and he tried to lift himself up, and he nearly did at one point had it not been for one of them to punch him in the back of his head. It sent him light headed and made him vulnerable.

In the back of his mind he heard Antonia’s pleas for them to stop in between her crying. When he felt hands on his hips and then his lower half of his body exposed, naked, he told her to look away.

He wasn’t sure if it was for her benefit or his.

“My name is Beowulf,” the man told him. Halfdan was pinned down by a man on each of his arms, and he felt Beowulf straddle him, heard him fumbling with the lacings on his breeches. “I only tell you this, so you will never forget who did this to you.” He breathed into Halfdan’s ear before thrusting his unwanted cock into the helpless man.

Antonia did as she was asked, and turned her back to the scene she could all too well hear behind her. She wept silently, as all she could listen to were Halfdan’s struggles which turned into muffled cries of pain, Beowulf’s grunting and vulgar running commentary on what he was doing, and the two men laughing.

Beowulf let out a long groan and silence descended the room for a few seconds. 

“Who’s next?”

Eventually they left. When the door to the room closed Antonia called Halfdan’s name softly. She had heard them punching him as well, flinching each time she heard flesh pounding flesh of any nature.

“Don’t,” He replied weakly, exhausted. “Don’t move.”

“Let me help you.” She reached down to the hem of her dress and ripped off a few strips of material. She heard him move behind her, as she reached into the corner of her cell where a cup of water had been left. She dipped the material into the water and turned to face him. She didn’t know what she was expecting but the scene before her wasn’t it.

Halfdan had dressed himself, curled into a corner of his cell as far away from her as possible with his back to her. Her eyes caught a stain on the floor where he had been laying - a dark red from his blood and something thick and white laid on top of it.

“Let me help you,” she repeated, hand holding out the wet cloth to him, which was utterly useless as he couldn’t see her. “You should clean yourself.”

“Why? Because I’m dirty now?” He seethed, lips curling back from his gritted teeth. She was nothing to him but the thought that she’d been a witness to such a humiliation and degradation made his blood boil. What does she think of him, letting it happen? How long will she wait before she told everyone, told Harald? What would his brother think of him?

He couldn’t let her tell anyone. He had to kill her.

Antonia couldn’t tell if Halfdan fell asleep, passed out, or was just very good at keeping still. She eventually did fall asleep, and was startled to find him sitting right next to her on his side of the bars when she awoke. His greasy swathe of hair covered one eye, but he was staring at her so intently that she was glad she could only see the one. His mouth twitched into a snarl, lip pulling back from his teeth like a dog about to sink its teeth into her flesh. 

A bruise marred his cheek. She reached through the bars quickly and gently stroked it. He startled and pulled back, eyes widening and softening, darting around the floor like he was thinking about something.

“I’m sorry I should not have - I’m sorry.” She repeated, berating herself for touching him. He turned his back to her again. 

He felt wet drops hit his shoulder as a cloth appeared through the bars near his face.

“Here. For your face.” Antonia offered. 

What was she doing? What was he doing? He’d been ready to ring his hands around her neck through the bars and choke the life from her when she’d touched his face and her hands were so soft. Comforting. The thoughts in his brain became too much.

He snatched the cloth from her and covered his face with it, letting the coolness calm the welt on his eye and bruise on his cheek. He handed it back to her after a few moments, turning back to face her again, wincing as the shift in position pulled at his muscles.

Her light hands gently rested on his shoulders, thumbs rubbing small circles on the exposed flesh near his clavicle. Her feminine hands were dainty, not at all like ... theirs. He leant his forehead on one of the bars as she reached her arms further through them now cradling the back of his neck, still rubbing soft circles on his exposed flesh.

He didn’t realise he was crying until he heard himself let out a choked sob. Her hands continued to soothe for a while before she wiped at his face with another piece of her ripped dress. She dipped the cloth into her cup of water again, wrung it out before offering it to him once more. He took it from her and looked at her, silently asking her to turn away.

No further words passed. Language was an issue for both of them anyway. They laid on the floor beside each other, only separated by the bars. During the night when they slept side by side, their hands had met and her smaller hand was in his.

In the morning, the door opened and they both startled awake. Beowulf entered, with one of his men and Harald behind them. Halfdan’s posture stiffened as his eyes flickered to the discarded cloth that he had used to clean himself. It was covered in blood, shit and semen and if Harald saw it, he would suspect something.

Harald approached his brother’s cell door. They had been separated for two nights but there was a look in Halfdan’s eyes that made him look different. “Brother, are you well?” Harald asked, wanting to say so much more but he couldn’t look too weak in front of Beowulf the Berserker.

Halfdan gave a short sharp nod and tried to figure out how he was going to stand without his injury seeming too obvious.

“They are both well, as promised.” Beowulf commented, smirking at Halfdan behind Harald’s back.

“I don’t care for the girl.” Harald snapped. “I only wish for my brother’s release.”

“I do.” Halfdan countered, standing and holding his side so the wince on his face and limp in his step would appear to be from a broken rib. “I’m not leaving without her.”

Harald hesitated, but looked to Beowulf over his shoulder. The Berserker shrugged his shoulders.

“The ransom was for two. I am a man of my word.” He motioned for his soldier to unlock the prisoner’s doors. Once free, Antonia stood beside her husband and took the hand that wasn’t holding his side in hers. She glanced at him sideways and offered a small smile. 

Harald clocked the odd exchange but didn’t dwell on it. He was just so happy to have his brother alive. He led them out the room, Antonia following and Halfdan last.

“It’s our secret,” Beowulf whispered in the bruised Vikings’ ear as he walked past, “Lover.”


	5. Chapter 5

Harald never let Antonia out of his sight, growing ever suspicious of her. Since their return to Vestfold Halfdan never left her side and he saw them growing closer. She’d put him under some Christian spell he was sure. In the process of Halfdan warming to her, he became cold towards Harald. 

Harald sensed something was wrong, something had changed and whenever he broached the subject Halfdan either yelled at him or just stormed off, Antonia following behind. She did something - or at the very least knew something - and he had to seperate them to find out why. 

Antonia found a long, fairly sturdy branch and lifted it up into the harder to reach branches of the large tree. She hit one of the branches with her own stick a few times and several apples fell.

“See?” She gloated.

Halfdan smirked. “Let me try.” He took the stick from her and hit the branches harder and more vigorously, causing more apples to fall. Antonia ducked and shrieked with laughter running out of the line of fire.

Halfdan bent and stabbed the nearest apple to him which had fallen on the ground with his small dagger, picking it up and started to peel the skin. He managed to peel the entire apple skin in one go, holding up the long spiral, quite proudly. Antonia held out the palm of her hand and the peel coiled in her palm like a green snake.

She looked to Halfdan to find him already looking at her. He quickly turned his attention to the shaved apple in his hand, taking the knife again and cutting a slice. He held the slice flat on the blade and offered it to Antonia. He meant for her to take the slice off the dagger with her hands but to his surprised amusement she leant forward and carefully took the apple slice between her teeth. It crunched in her mouth as he cut another slice, this time for himself, mimicking her actions and taking the fruit directly from his blade.

He cut another and offered it again to her. She took it the same way, this time some of its sweet juice fell from her lips. She was about to wipe it off her chin but Halfdan had beaten her to it. He cupped her chin, thumb wiping the juice away. He bought the pad of his thumb to his own mouth, sucking the juice off. He gave her a small smile, almost shyly and she found herself staring at his lips. When she realised she was staring she lowered her head, feeling heat rise in her cheeks and she hoped they hadn’t turned too pink and he noticed.

He cupped her chin again, bringing her vision back up, thumb skimming on her bottom lip. He looked from her parted lips to her eyes, silently asking for permission. She felt her head give the slightest nod which she hoped he saw. He lowered his mouth towards hers, and she heard herself gasp.

“My Lord,” a voice came from beside them.

“What?” Halfdan snapped, dropping his hand and turning to the man who had approached them, unnoticed.

“Your brother needs you at the docks.” 

“What for?”

“I - I don’t my Lord, I was only asked to d-deliver a message.” The boy stumbled over his words.

Halfdan sighed and turned to Antonia. “You will wait here? I won’t be long.”

“Of course.”

Antonia sat against the tree eating the apple peel from her hand. It was getting cooler even during the day, and the birds which had once sat in the trees and merrily sang all day had flown away to find warmer weather already. After a few minutes she heard footsteps approaching.

“That was quick!” She stood from the tree, wiping the dirt off her bum, expecting to see Halfdan returned already. “Oh! Hello King Harald.”She greeted with a small curtsey. “Halfdan is at the docks.”

“I know. I requested his presence there, as I need to talk to you. Alone.” Harald crossed his arms and approached Antonia, forcing her to be stuck between the large tree and him. “Is my brother ill?”

“No.”

“Then what ails him?”

“Nothing.” She shook her head.

Harald’s hands gripped Antonia’s shoulders and he pushed her back into the tree. “I am your King, you do not lie to me. You’ve done something to my brother, some Christian nonsense and you will tell me what is wrong with him.”

“I haven’t done anything and there is nothing wrong with Halfdan.”

“He is not the same since England.”

“Why? Because he doesn’t follow you around like a lost sheep anymore?” Antonia tried to push out of his hold on her, but his hand gripped her throat, not tight enough to hurt but it was very uncomfortable and the threat was imminent. His blue eyes burned brighter as he bought his face close to hers and growled.

“You are nothing, do you understand? You are a piece in a game that we played to get money from your father to build an army. You think anyone cares if I throw you in the fjord? You have no family now and Halfdan will quickly find another cunt to warm his cock at night.”

Harald’s hand left her throat and she was relieved, only to feel a sudden sting on her right cheek as the back of his ringed hand smacked across her face. She gasped in shock and pain and bought her hand to touch the tender area. His fists grabbed the front material of her dress and balled it into his hands.

“I will have you bound and whipped if need be, little girl. Now, tell me, what did you do to my brother?”

“She did nothing.” Halfdan spoke, dagger poised at the King’s throat, having come back from the docks and crept silently upon them. “Perhaps you would like to ask me what I will do to you, unless you let go of my wife?”

Harald laughed, dropping his grip. “You see? She has bewitched you with Christian nonsense! A blade to your brothers throat? You won’t kill me, Halfdan. You won’t even hurt me, brother.”

Halfdan growled in frustration, pushing Harald to the ground, sheathing his dagger. He was right. He couldn’t hurt, certainly not kill, his older brother. Even when they were children and fought, Halfdan always conceded first. The thought of hurting his brother, not being able to stop, terrified him.

Halfdan stood over Harald as he laid on the grass. “Perhaps, in time, I would have told you what happened. But not now.” He gestured behind him, towards Antonia. “We are spending the winter in Kattegat. You will not follow us and you will not touch her again.”

 

Bjorn was surprised to learn his friend had decided to travel to see him so close to Winter. Light snowflakes started to fall as Halfdan’s solitary boat docked. Even more surprising was that his brother had not travelled with him. And the most surprising thing of all was that Halfdan was married.

And his wife was stunningly beautiful.

Bjorn could tell she was English by looking at her - dark chestnut hair, pale skin and her overall stature was smaller than the blonde Viking women he was used to. Her hips didn’t look wide enough to bear children but he bet she was tight and he wanted to test out his theory.

“A person?” Antonia repeated, feeling queasy. Being reunited with Bjorn had bought back memories of their Mediterranean travels which Halfdan bestowed on Antonia at night whilst they were lying in bed. “What did it taste like?”

“Pork, but less salty.”

Antonia pulled a face. “I ate pork today.”

“I bet you will never eat it again.” Halfdan turned to his side, trying to look at her profile in the dark of the room. A small fire was burning, offering warmth in the freezing winter, but it’s glowing light didn’t reach the top of the bed.

“Probably not,” she laughed lightly. He let go of her hand and propped himself up beside her. She looked up to him. He traced the profile of her nose with a finger first, then her mouth, lightly tracing the her cupid’s bow, before running around and down her bottom lip.

“Can I touch you?” He whispered.

“You are.” She answered innocently.

“No, I mean - forget it.” He licked his lips and flopped onto the furs on his back with a sigh.

“Are you angry with me?” Antonia asked after a few moments.

“Just - just forget it.” He turned to his side his back to her, and fell into a sleep littered with nightmares about Beowulf killing everyone he cared about - his mother, Harald, and Antonia.

In the thick of winter, snow covered every surface of Kattegat. There was not much else that could be done apart from stay in the house Bjorn had offered them. Halfdan made weapons whilst Antonia sewed.

“What are you making?” He asked, seeing delicate lace flowers with intricate beading details littered on the table amongst his arsenal of knives and axes.

“They are flowers.” She told him.

He rolled his eyes. “I can see that. What are you doing with them?”

She held up a blue night dress, “I’m going to sew the flowers on the straps, here, see?” She pointed to the thin straps, maybe a finger width wide. As Halfdan leant closer he studied the material between his fingers. The material of the dress was thin muslin, but soft and he imagined her wearing it in the Spring when the snow disappeared.

If Antonia wore only that to bed, it would cling to her curves. Her thick dresses hid her curves but living in close proximity he’d seen her naked after bathing several times. She had a tiny waist that he bet he could almost put his hands around, then her hips went wide which led to her firm ass. When she bent over to pick something up he often leant his head back to look at her bottom. He’d always been more drawn to a woman’s breasts before, but her backside aroused him.

And then he would feel sick. Whenever he’d been feeling aroused he’d feel sick straight after, memories of Beowulf pushing into him.

“Don’t you think it will be pretty?” She smiled at him.

“Do I look like I know what pretty is?”

Antonia picked up one of the flowers she’d made and put it on top of his head. He frowned.

“Now you do,” she chuckled. 

She was mocking him. He grew quick to anger, throwing the stupid flower off his head and stormed out the house into the freezing air.

Halfdan had gone to the Great Hall, sunk a few cups of mead to try and clear his head but all he thought of was Antonia and that dress with those stupid fucking flowers. He left to go back to her, but instead he came across a barn, full of only hay and goats huddled in a corner occasionally bleating their disgust at the cold temperature.

He’d not relieved himself in the weeks since England. Any sexual thoughts or activity had been far from his mind but now his balls needed emptying. His hand went into his trousers and he started to stroke himself, hard and purposeful to quickly get to his finish. He kept reminding himself that it was just him, it was only his hand and nobody else’s. He imagined Antonia in that dress and his strokes became softer and more controlled. As he felt his release approaching he leant his head back and his seed spewed forth onto his hand and the hay covered floor. Feeling the pressure relieved somewhat he revelled in the peace of the barn for a moment before approaching the goats in the corner, and wiped his hand on one of them. 

It wasn’t the worst thing he’d done.


	6. Chapter 6

“How did you meet your wife?” Bjorn asked softly, one eye wandering to Antonia who was nodding her head in time with the music.

“Harald arranged it, last Spring,” Halfdan answered, swirling the mead in his cup.

“Are you in love?”

Antonia’s eyes flicked to Bjorn at his words. She found herself not wanting to hear Halfdan’s reply. She also wished his friend Bjorn would stop staring at her. Although, he was the first Viking to not spit at her, or call her names. But from the way he stared at her, she wished he would ignore her like the others did.

“No,” Halfdan scoffed.

One of Bjorn’s men approached the table and sat down heavily, a woman in his lap laughing flirtatiously.

“To Prince Bjorn Ragnarsson, Halfdan the Black, and the many beautiful women that bestow this land!” The man raised his glass in a toast. 

The Vikings laughed and joined him, “Skol!” 

“Tell me Halfdan, how fares the English woman in bed?” Bjorn’s man asked.

Halfdan felt Antonia stiffen beside him. She stopped nodding her head and clasped her hands tightly in her lap. 

“That is something that only I, and the Gods, know.”

“Do you share her?” Bjorn asked. “With Harald? Or anyone else?”

Halfdan turned his head to look at Antonia sitting beside him. Her gaze held perfectly forward, seemingly staring into space. Her jaw was a little clenched, mirroring her hands, and her cheeks were tinged pink. She fully understood what the men were talking about and she was equal parts mortified and horrified.

Halfdan turned back to his friend, and laughed. “Why does she want anyone else? My cock fills her up more than enough.”

“She looks a little...”Bjorn mused, “Uptight?”

“Indeed she does,” Bjorn’s friend spoke. “She needs a good fucking, Halfdan. Make her walk with a limp.”

The man chuckled but Halfdan remained deathly still and silent. He suddenly pounced across the table in one fluid motion like a cat, and pushed the laughing man to the floor, landing on top of him. He raised his dagger and plunged it into the mans thick, muscular thigh. Halfdan felt the muscle and fat surround his blade before twisting it, prying open the flesh as blood poured onto the straw lined floor beneath them. 

“We will see who walks with a limp after this, young one.” He seethed into the man’s ear who was now screaming in agony.

As quickly as he had forced the man to the floor, Halfdan stood. He beckoned Antonia to follow him out the Hall. Outside Halfdan walked with purpose to their house, Antonia nearly jogging at times to keep up with him. He held the door open for her and as soon as she stepped inside he locked the door and pressed his lips against hers. She froze but then managed to break away from him by pushing against his shoulders.

“What are you doing?”

“What do you think we’re doing? We’re married, we need to act like it.” He grabbed one of her breasts roughly through the thick material of her dress, the other hand grabbed the back of her head steady as he pressed his mouth against hers one more time.

“Stop it!” She pleaded.

“Get on the bed.” He growled.

“Stop!” She repeated, voice more forceful and shoved him back. He glared at her, breathing heavily. “I know why you’re doing this but you don’t have to prove anything to me. Or to them.”

Antonia watched as his eyes softened, his senses returning to him. He exhaled heavily and ran his hands along the shaved sides of his heads, collapsing onto a nearby wooden stool. He shook his head, mumbling to himself incomprehensible words.

She sat on the stool next to him. “I wish I knew how to help you,” she whispered laying her hand on his knee.

“I have not been kind to you. I am not a good man. Especially not a good husband. I knew the way the others were treating you and I did nothing to stop them. You do not deserve this.” He gestured to himself. 

“Someone once said, that what we get and what we deserve are not always in balance,” Antonia smirked and nudged his shoulder with hers.

Halfdan gave a small smile. “I am pleased to know that you listen to me.”

“Occasionally, yes.” Antonia teased. “Especially about your adventures in the Mediterranean.”

“That seems a lifetime ago.” Halfdan thought back to his time there and could almost feel the harsh sun on his face and smell the exotic fruits and spices.

“You were very happy there.” Antonia had noticed how his facial expressions and overall demeanour softened whenever he told her stories of his journey there.

“I was.” He nodded in realisation.

“Let’s go back.”

“To Vestfold? Not yet.” Halfdan shook his head, not wanting to see his brother for a while.

“No. To the Mediterranean.”

Halfdan laughed. “We need boats and men to sail there. And the map, which Bjorn still has. Provisions. New armour - I do not have the gold for such an expedition.”

Antonia stood and went to her trunk, buried beneath her clothes and furs. She rummaged around, taking almost everything out and appearing with something in her hand.

“Will this be enough?” She held out the largest lump of gold Halfdan had ever seen. He took it from her, feeling it’s weight. It was almost the size of his clenched fist.

“Where did you get this from?” He asked incredulously. 

“My Father gave it to me on our wedding day.”

“You’ve had this the entire time? Why didn’t you leave? This is more than enough for you to start over again anywhere you wanted to!”

“I didn’t want to start over.” She answered defiantly. “Until now.”

Halfdan tilted his head and threw the gold in the air and caught it in his hand. “Well, then. You best start packing.”


	7. Epilogue

Halfdan stood just outside the back door, watching Erik and Brandt with their wooden swords. Erik, the oldest, was trying to fight his little brother, whereas Brandt was more interested in trying to dig a hole in the vegetable garden.

“Are they playing nicely?” Antonia came up behind him, resting her head on his shoulder.

“For now, yes.”

They continued to watch the two boys playing, Brandt had now been coerced into fighting, but he put little effort into it.

“What do we tell them, when they are older?” Halfdan asked in a low voice.

“What do you mean?”

“What if they ask about how we met? About before they were born?”

“We tell them the truth.”

Halfdan’s eyes widened. “The truth?” He had only told Harald his truth last year on their return to Vestfold. He could never face telling his truth to his own children.

“Yes - we had an arranged marriage and then we fell in love.” She smiled and kissed his cheek.

Brandt had caught sight of his mother and dropped his sword running to her. “Mother! Mother!” He shouted, running into her and grabbing her legs, face burrowing into the colourful cottons of her dress skirts. Antonia picked him up and placed him on her hip listening intently to him babbling about digging and worms. She put him on the ground telling him to wash his hands.

“He is too soft.” Halfdan mumbled.

“Halfdan!” Antonia admonished. “He’s a little boy!”

“You coddle him too much, he needs to be independent. Like Erik.” Halfdan gestured to his eldest child who was running around the large garden shouting and fighting an imaginary opponent.

“Erik is older, Brandt was only born two summers ago. Let him be a little boy before he grows into a man.”

 

Halfdan only huffed. He wanted both his children to be strong and fierce so that nobody would ever hurt them. Brandt was too much like Antonia - he favoured animals and music to weilding a sword and fighting with his brother.

Erik heard his mother’s voice carry on the soft breeze. Spotting his parents he ran down the length of the garden as fast as he could and ran straight to his father, a little breathless. “Father! Did you see me?” The little boy with wheat coloured hair and Antonia’s eyes looked up to him seeking admiration.

“I did, you did well.” Halfdan ruffled the boys hair. “Go feed the goat and wash up for supper.”

The boy nodded and did as he was told.

“I have never seen anyone look at their father the way he looks at you. He idolises you.” Antonia ran her knuckles gently along one shaved side of her husband’s head. When they first landed on the sandy shores of the Mediterranean, Halfdan had started to grow his hair and now it was in one long braid that ran just past his shoulders. She preferred his hair away from his face so she could see how handsome he was.

“That’s what I worry about.” Halfdan confessed.

“Stop. Don’t think that way.” She kissed him again and they embraced each other, Halfdan’s hand grabbing her ass and held her to him as he placed wet kisses on her neck.

“Eurgh!” A little voice came from beside them. “That’s ‘scusting!” Brandt spoke with a disgusted look on his face.

“Disgusting? Well, how do you think you were made?” Halfdan teased.

Antonia smacked his arm as the little boy looked at his parents, confused.

“Brandt, go and get the bowls and put them on the table for supper please? That’s a good boy.” Antonia asked. She then turned back to Halfdan, and couldn’t help but to smile a little. “It’s my birthday soon.”

“I know, I haven’t forgotten.” He assured her. “But you haven’t told me what gift you want yet.”

“I would like a daughter. I am starting to feel outnumbered by men.”

“But-but with Brandt you-you nearly died.” Halfdan stuttered, remembering how he sat with Erik on his lap listening to her screams echo in their tent. Then she had gone deathly silent and he prayed for her screams to return. She had lost so much blood that the healer had told him to prepare to lose his wife. Her pale, sweaty face tortured his dreams at night still.

“But I didn’t. I’m here. The Gods chose to save me.”

Halfdan liked to hear her talk of Gods and was proud that she had left Christianity behind and fully embraced his Pagan ways.

“Well,” Halfdan paused, “It will be a lot of fun trying for another one.” He smirked.

Antonia rolled her eyes and smiled. “Come on, supper will be ready.” 

She placed her hand in his. After the years that had passed by, he still loved the way her hands were soft in his and provided him with comfort and a sense of security that he didn’t think he deserved.

Then again, a wise man once said that what we get and what we deserve are not always in balance.

THE END.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this! Comments/feedback are life.


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